At the Hands of the Enemy
by KMSaum
Summary: TurkFic Sequel to Beneath the Fog. Tseng and Elena sacrificed themselves for their mission. Learn what happened to them at the hands of the Silver Haired Men. WARNING: likely violent. Will be 2 chaps.


This is a sequel to "Beneath the Fog," for someone (a reviewer) pointed out that I did not tell how the Silver Haired Men came upon Tseng and Elena's Turk I.D. tags. So, I jumped at the chance to explore the darker side of what transpired after the shrouded scene beneath the fog. Here is the short tale (likely 2 chapters) of the Hell Tseng and Elena suffered for their organization

**At the Hands of the Enemy**

_Where is she?_ The voices, consistent and yet far away, echoed through his numb mind in a confused imitation of consciousness.

……_Where is she?_

_What have you done with her?_

…………………_Where is she?_ Tseng tried to focus, tried to force his blurred eyes to open, tried to get his thoughts into some semblance of order. Where was he? Why did his entire body feel like it had been run over by a small tank?

………………_What did you and your filthy friends do with her?_ that…a _large_ tank…

…………_If you've harmed her, you are worse than dead…_

_Where is she?_ The voices were the only thing he was really sure of, as they had hardly ceased since…since he had lost himself within this Hell of darkness and pain.

_What did you do with her?_

…_Where is she?_ There were moments when there was light, times when Tseng could tell reality—at least this new bastardized version of what reality had been for him before—from the confusing muddled mess that was his mind. Those times he could see the water, the white trees, the stars. The massive structure, crystalline, shell-like and white, the one he should have been able to put a name to and yet could not.

_Where is she?_

……………_Where is she?_ Those were always the words that drug him out of his respites, if you could call the spans of time he spent bound and unconscious a 'respite.' Wakefulness was pain though, so unconsciousness, comparatively, was bliss. How long had he been stranded in this mockery of an existence? An hour? A day? A week, maybe?

_No._ The first sure thought he'd had for…he knew not how long. _No._ It had only been a day, two perhaps, since he'd been captured, but not a week.

Tseng knew he would not have survived a week.

_Where is she?_

………………_What did you do with her?_

……_Where is she hidden?_ He blocked out the voices, the reiterated words, as he tried to string together a line of thought. He was not the only one, not the only captive of his silver-haired tormentors. Always the pain, always the same questions.

Questions he found _himself_ asking.

_Where is she?_

…………………_Where is she?_

His own concerns were louder, more powerful, than the voices. He formed the one question, the one inquiry he had to answer:

_Where is…Elena?_

A shrill scream, the cry of a person in terrible pain, ripped at Tseng's ears. For the first time in more hours than he could account for, his dark eyes cleared.

He was lying on the cool, dark ground, his hands and ankles bound tightly behind him. There were pools of crimson scattered all around the area, some of them the rusty brown of old blood, some the vibrant red of new. There was one such puddle beside Tseng's side, a reminder of the wound there (as though the needles of pain ripping at his abdomen weren't reminder enough.) The three silver haired figures were visible nearby, crowded around another downed figure in black.

Tseng could hear her crying.

And, as always, there were the questions.

"Where is she?"

"What have you done with her?"

"_What have you done with our mother!_" There was a soft thud as one of the silver haired youths, the largest of the three, kicked Elena in the stomach. There was a retching sound followed by a choked sob. Then…

"I…don't know." Her voice was quiet and broken, but he could hear her clearly. There was another thud and another sob. This time, however, the sob issued from the largest of the youths—and the kicks continued to fall.

Tseng tried to move, to lift himself off the bloody ground and do something. He _had _to do _something,_ if only to get them off of her…

"Enough!" the Turk roared; his usually deep, intimidating voice faltered and did not carry. They heard him anyway and the attack on Elena cut off; he had the silver haired youths' full attention. Rolling onto his good side, he spat a mouthful of blood at the feet of the smallest of the youths, the one with the short, parted hair. There was enough anger in him to make up for his lack of volume and the fact that he lay bound at his enemies' feet. "You have no honor." Kadaj's smile was both wide and terrible.

"We will teach you about _honor, _human. You will do well to mind the lesson." Tseng's face was resolute, but mentally, at the sight of the two-bladed sword as it was drawn, he shuddered.

_Well, there will be one more part to this. Anyone want the senseless violence. I know I do! Please R&R!_

_-K-_


End file.
